I have decided to test out using a standing up desk - Well, for me it's one of my kitchen surfaces that I have completely cleared off for the use thereof. I'm hoping that by forcing myself to stand up and type it might stop me being on the computer so much.
I might take up knitting again. Just to keep my hands busy while watching tv in the evenings. Nothing complicated. Rather something I can knit without looking at it so that I don't have to take my eyes off the screen.
It's no wonder that the British public feel that life is all doom and gloom when we are bombarded in our living rooms with adverts so depressing that our only option is to mute the television, leave the room or fast forward to avoid them.
I am talking about the ads that are begging for money. We are begged for money to build wells in which we see children drinking out of muddy pools fouled by animal urine. We see images of young girls sitting miserable whilst waiting for their 12th birthday when they will be forced into a paedophilic marriage, and only our £3 a month can save them. We are watching graphic images of cats, dogs, donkeys all being so cruelly used that it enrages us. Children in our own country being so abused that it makes us feel sick and want to simply shoot the bastards that do it. We see and hear from those that have suffered and survive Cancer, but only if we give up a regular monthly donation. The list goes on and on with no let up through every hour of television watching.
It doesn't help when we hear how much of the money that we have donated never actually reaches the people and projects for which we are donating.
We hear of tools, equipment, and materials being delivered to various 3rd world villages in order to build schools only to have it all sit there rotting for many years because of lack of organisation on the charity's part to actually send people to do the building work.
We hear of some of those helping to fight the ebola virus being paid £1000 a day. We now know that much charity money is actually being filtered off by soldiers, government officials and even rulers of countries. And just how much or our donations goes toward creating these adverts along with the amount of money it must cost for viewing time.
We live in a very cruel world and as individuals simply can't fix it. To be continually forced to see and hear of all this torment destroys the very soul. It drags us down spiritually and mentally. It brings out feelings of anger, impotence and I believe it goes a long way to causing a general depression and glass half empty attitude to life itself.
It may sound harsh but I am finding that being absolutely flooded with charity adverts is actually having an adverse effect. It has started to desensitise me. Whereas I once gave freely, both of my time and money to charity, I no longer feel it is my responsibility.
Perhaps it's about time some sort of restriction should be put on the amount of time each charity is allowed to show adverts on television in the space of a 24 hour period. There are many restrictions put on the smaller charities that collect via tins, including actually not being allowed to verbally ask for money or even shake a tin. Yet other charities are allowed to invade our down time, in our own homes, several times an hour with no restrictions.
In the meantime I will just keep muting, leaving the room, or fast forwarding as many others do.
When these blocks of flats that I live in were built back in the early 60s they installed the lovely old style lifts. The type where only three sides are closed in and the front has two doors both of which have to manually be opened and shut. The inner door being a concertina metal affair which one can see out of at all times, and the outer door being almost solid but with a small window at eye level.
The association company that own the flats, in their wisdom and I should imagine at great expense, decided to upgrade our lifts to more modern ones.
We have had to put up with a lot of mess, a lot of noise, and the inconvenience of having a temporary chair lift for use for those that simply can't make the stairs, for many weeks.
It moves so slowly that one could virtually make a cup of tea while waiting for it to arrive from the ground floor and when actually inside it because of the snails pace at which it moves one feels as if it's not actually working. I stood there wondering if it was moving or if it had broken down.
That is until three evenings ago when I came home after visiting my Daughter at 9.30pm with 5 bags of shopping, a bag full of items that my dog needs when I go visiting, and of course the dog himself.
On driving up to my block there was no parking spaces for my Daughter to park. So I said no worries, double park and I will make two journeys to get the shopping etc, to the lift and once there I can make it upstairs by myself. She waited while I made the two journeys and then got back to the car to get the dog from where he had been sitting on her lap. I then waved her goodbye.
Getting back inside I pushed the button for the lift, and to my horror it didn't come. It was broken. Less than 24 hours after being tried and tested, it was buggered.
I now have 6 heavy bags and a dog, along with carpal tunnel in both arms, to drag up 2 flights of stairs. Plus adding insult to injury I have to struggle passed a chair lift that is taking up a good 50% of the stairway space. But, not to worry too much, perhaps I can use the chair lift to carry myself with bags piled on top of me, up the stairs.
I released Louie from his lead so that he could freely walk up by himself, not caring a jot at that point if he came face to face with the other dog that lives on my floor and started trouble. In my state of mind at that point I was too peed off to worry about my Louie and Max coming face to face. Although I was conscious of it not being Max's time for going out for a pee.
I sat on the chair lift, and pushed, pulled and struggled to get all the bags onto my lap, and with a spare finger pushed the lever to get the chair lift working. Nothing! the chair lift didn't move. By now I wanted to cry, or at least hit someone. I was not happy.
I then had to struggle off the chair lift, putting the bags once more on the floor, so that I could push the stair lift arms, seat, and foot stall into the upright position in order to be able to get passed it.
Louie was waiting for me and watching all this struggling going on from the top of the first run of stairs. I picked up the bags, and hauled my way to the top with arms feeling as if they were being pulled out of my sockets and legs giving way beneath me. If I had had breath I would have been screaming with fury. By the time I arrived at the top my heart was bursting with the strain and I thought I was about to have a heart attack.
We are now on day four and still the lift isn't working. Seemingly it was reported before I even discovered it out of order and yet no one has been to fix it. The mood in this block is not good. No one is happy about being enclosed in such a small space without being able to view out. No one is happy about the snails pace the lift moves, and certainly everyone is angered that after all the noise and the mess we still don't have a working lift.
My Blog List
♥ Go 4 Fit